The Golden Warrior
by GundamWingFanatic90
Summary: AU, sequel to "The Red Hunters" and "Peacetime Adventures". The year is 2325 of the Second Age. Fifteen years after the events of The Red Hunters, all is going fairly well in the Greenwood, but just when things begin to look up for Legolas, tragedy strikes. Battling madness and grief, nothing will ever be the same for the Crown Prince. PG 13 for language, violence, and romance.
1. PROLOGUE

_**Prologue submitted 10-1-12.** _

**_Yes, I'm alive. Just enjoy the prologue of my newest story. Explanation is at the end of the prologue. :-)  
_**

**_Summary: The year is 2325 of the Second Age. Fifteen years after the events of The Red Hunters, all is going fairly well in the Greenwood, but the Shadow continues to grow. Just when things begin to look up for Legolas, tragedy strikes. Battling against the madness that threatens to overtake him, nothing will ever be the same for the Crown Prince. PG 13 for language, violence, and romance.  
_**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or any related characters or works. They belong to Mister J.R.R. Tolkien._**

* * *

_**THE GOLDEN WARRIOR.**  
Book Four in the __IAUR MIN__ Series.  
By GundamWingFanatic90/Portrait of a Scribe._

* * *

_PROLOGUE._

_Year 2310, Second Age of Middle-Earth._

Maedhros sighed, and coughed a bit more blood from his throat. With the motion, the long dagger impaling his left bicep grated painfully against the ribs it was lodged between.

"Someone must rescue them," he said. His voice was low and gurgling, and he choked and heaved for a second before he could speak again. "You two and Legolas track those orcs down and get those humans back. I shall remain here with Elladan and Elrohir to aid the villagers and treat the wounded." The twins looked hesitant, but departed at his urging, calling Elrond's sons over and retrieving Legolas as they left. As he watched the trio's retreating backs, Maedhros felt a stab of foreboding and wondered if he had done the right thing.

"May the Valar watch over you all," he whispered. Then they were gone.

For a long moment, all Maedhros could do was sit there, breathing slowly as he tried not to pass out. A second later, twin pairs of hands were on his shoulders, steadying him. Elladan and Elrohir looked worried as they scanned him up and down.

"We need to get you inside, _iaur min,"_ one of them said. Maedhros's vision was starting to swim, so he could not determine which twin the speaker was. He nodded faintly, coughing blood again. Then he felt a strange rushing in his head. The last thing he heard before blackness overtook him was the sound of his name being yelled.

* * *

_A fire crackled merrily in the darkness of the night. The smoke drifted up into the boughs of the trees, briefly hindered by a small cooking pot, before dispersing into the warm breeze. To one side of the flames rested a pack and a laid-out bedroll; to the other side crouched a shadowed form over a dark, quivering lump on the ground._

_The night was silent for several moments._

"_Will she live?" asked a male voice from the edge of the trees. The silhouette's head, for it was indeed humanoid, lifted. It seemed to be staring at the source of the sound._

* * *

When Maedhros regained consciousness, he was not alone. A familiar figure was standing over him, arms crossed. The expression on her features was unreadable.

Silver eyes glinted sea-green as they stared at the red-headed elf lying, bleeding, on the pallet.

* * *

"_Yes," the silhouette replied. Its voice was a smooth, feminine alto, gentle and husky with the whisper. "Her body is healed; her mind, however, is not."_

* * *

"How can you be so cavalier about this?" the elleth with the strange eyes demanded as she reached out to lay a gentle touch against his wounded side.

* * *

"_Will she recover?"_

* * *

His grey eyes looked at her, filled with pain, but he did not allow it to influence his voice. "I had no choice." He choked a little, and spat out a glob of blood with a grimace. "I had to help them."

* * *

_Now the shadowed woman hesitated, and then bowed her head again. A long-fingered hand snaked out to touch the brow of what was revealed to be another female. "I do not know."_

* * *

Her eyes darkened further, threatening to fill with tears.

* * *

"_What do you mean?"_

* * *

"You only have one chance at this life," she whispered. "How can you toss it around so carelessly?"

* * *

"_Her head was damaged when she hit it on that branch," the woman replied somewhat snappishly. "She woke earlier, but could recall nothing but her name and the fact that she is pregnant. She knows nothing of where she came from, nor anything about her parentage or the sire of her unborn child."_

* * *

He stared levelly at her, brow creased with the knowledge of a thousand years and a thousand battles.

* * *

"_And what of her body? Are she and the babe alright?"_

* * *

"My choices were to die, or to stay and atone," he said. "I chose to atone. Am I not doing that?"

* * *

"_Physically, they shall be fine," the silhouette replied. "I have seen to that. However, I fear that no more shall she walk in the realms of her people as she once did, and if she ever does regain her memories, I pray that it will be a slow trickle… and that there is someone present who can explain them to her." The figure paused. "You know as well as I that I was never particularly gifted with foresight, my young fire, but something tells me that battles face her in the future."_

* * *

Her face contorted, and she spun away, shoulders hunching as they trembled faintly. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides. "If you keep doing things like this, you will eventually be hurt so badly that not even I can save you!" she spat angrily, turning to face him.

* * *

"_Does her link with her husband still stand?" The figure finally looked back up at her counterpart, and the firelight glinted off of silver eyes and black hair._

* * *

They were silent for a long moment, staring into each others' eyes, his gaze scrutinizing and hers furious.

* * *

"_Of course," she replied. "That is a bond that could only be severed by divine intervention." She paused once more, her voice growing quiet. "That bond and the child that she carries shall be what see her through the difficulties that I see ahead of her. She shall need much aid during the coming months."_

* * *

"Tell me," she ground out, "what you would do if I told you I was with child. Would you go out and risk your life needlessly like you're so fond of doing, when it meant that our child could be left fatherless?"

* * *

"_Then aid we shall give." The male voice finally entered into the ring of firelight, and his grey eyes danced in the flickering glow. He came over and hunkered down atop the bedroll, shoving his hands into his armpits and crouching upon the balls of his feet. Silence reigned for several seconds longer._

* * *

He grimaced painfully, and then was silent for a long moment, his grey eyes boring into her now ocean-blue orbs.

* * *

"_She has the blood of my people flowing through her veins," the female mused at length. She traced a thoughtful finger down the other female's cheek. "I can already sense its awakening. It is weak, but it is present. If anything, she shall have at least the talents of the shadows and the thought-speech. It remains to be seen whether she shall have any talent with magic or not, or any other extraneous abilities."_

* * *

"The blood of your people is strong," he said at length. "It would run strong in the child, stronger even because of your own power. You also have your subordinates to think of. You would not abandon them, and the child would at least have its mother."

* * *

"_Indeed."_

* * *

She stared bitterly at him, ignoring the raven-black fringe that fell into her eyes.

* * *

_Again, the hush of an awkward quiet fell between them, with the grey eyes fixed upon the flames and the silver staring musingly on the incapacitated woman. The grey eyes briefly flicked up to stare at his companion's back, and then they returned to the fire as their owner returned to his thoughts._

_He had come upon the woman quite abruptly earlier that day when he had helped a group of men, women, and children in need of healing supplies. When he had been tending their minor injuries, he had noticed the wounded woman. He had immediately seen the differences between her and these rustic folk, and had asked that he be allowed to take her into his charge in return for his help. The men had been reluctant, but in the end had acquiesced._

_He had tried his best to heal her, but her wounds had been long-infected, likely a couple of weeks old. Frankly, the silhouette with the grey eyes had been surprised to realize that the woman was still alive- that was until he had felt, during his initial examination, the faint bulge of her belly and realized that she had good reason to cling tenaciously to life._

_Even so, he had feared that she would not last until the morning._

_Then help had arrived from the most unlikely of sources. She had come upon him in the night, melting out of the shadows like she was wont to do. Upon seeing the condition of his ward, she had immediately taken charge. Now, the wounded woman was resting, as was the shadow-maid, and he was contemplating what had brought her to him at that critical moment._

"_I've been searching for you." His companion's voice jolted him from his reverie, and he realized that he was more tired than he had previously thought._

* * *

Her face contorted, and he thought for a second that she would either weep or shout.

* * *

"_You have?" His voice was dull, and held a faint tinge of cynicism to it._

* * *

"How could you assume such a thing?" she quietly asked instead.

* * *

"_I was."_

* * *

"How could you think that I could simply move on as though nothing had happened?" She frowned. "I may be powerful, but you overestimate my strength." A tense pause stretched itself in the still air.

* * *

"_Why?"_

* * *

"If you died, I would follow you in an instant," she choked out, "regardless of any duty to my people or our child." Silence reigned between them for several long moments.

* * *

_Now the woman paused, and then she finally left her place beside the deeply unconscious shape on the ground. She circled the fire until she finally knelt beside the man, and gingerly unfolded his limbs from his body, forcing his knees to the ground, so that she could press herself against him, her arms encircling his neck as her face lingered only a half-inch away from his._

"_Because when I said those words I had been both angered with worry and distraught that you had come so close to death yet again," she whispered, breath floating across his lips. "And when you replied in the way you did, my temper flared even further because you were so calm when you had taken a dire wound. I did not understand, and my words caused a rift between us that I refused to heal at the time."_

* * *

"I am no stranger to dire wounds," she said sternly at last. "But I refuse to stand aside and watch as you allow yourself to be wounded carelessly over and over again." Her voice rose in anger toward the end of her statement, and then faded for a long time.

* * *

_She paused, her silver eyes briefly closing as she drew a slow breath. "Nevertheless, it hurt after I parted from you, knowing that I had hurt you as well. It hurt me more than I had previously thought possible, my husband."_

* * *

"I shall heal you this time," she hissed. "But after this, I do not wish to see you again."

* * *

_The man finally sighed, his hands coming up to pull the woman to him as his own eyes drifted shut and he leaned his forehead against hers. A few wisps of his light hair, russet in the firelight, drifted down to tickle his cheek. "I missed you, as well, my wife. Where have you been these years, beloved?"_

* * *

He froze, feeling a chill run through his body as memories of his parents flashed in his mind's eye. He swallowed with some difficulty. His voice was level, but very quiet as he spoke. "You would leave?"

* * *

"_Many places," she replied, snuggling against him. Her lips briefly brushed against his, causing them both to freeze for an instant. Then she deepened the contact again._

* * *

"Yes," she said with conviction, and her eyes were cold and hard as chips of ice. Then she moved forward, closed her eyes, and began to heal him.

* * *

"_I have been many places, my young fire," she breathed through their kisses, her hands questing to his belt. He did not stop her, also allowing her to straddle his hips. He held her about the waist as she undid their leggings and tunics._

* * *

A few moments passed in strained silence. She began to sweat, and her breath started to come heavy while her eyes opened, revealing them to be glazed. At last, she wrenched herself away from his side with an anguished cry, collapsing to the floor in a heap.

* * *

"_But none of them really matter unless you go to them with me." Here she paused, eyes meeting his again. "Will you consent to have me travel with you?"_

* * *

His heart lurched in fear, and he tried frantically to get off of his pallet, to help her, but she angrily held up a hand toward him. He halted at the silent command. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she stared bitterly into his own. She said nothing as she got up, turned, and stumbled weakly, unsteadily, from the room, clutching her lower abdomen. A single tear fell to the floor, and then he was alone with his unspoken apologies and terrible grief.

He did not see her again.

* * *

_He was silent for a second, his grey eyes smoldering as he stared into her silver ones._

"_I would have it no other way, my bright shadow," he said fervently. Then he dove in for another searing kiss._

* * *

_Year 2310 S.A._

Legolas paused, and regarded the red-haired healer hovering over him.

"You've had no trouble breathing?" he asked, eying the sling and bandages wrapped around the other elf's chest. Maedhros hesitated, deliberating for an instant before nodding.

"I did," he answered. Strangely enough, he would not meet Legolas' gaze. The eldest son of Fëanor seemed almost hurt as he continued to speak. "As chance happened, my Life Guardian, Dínenweth, was passing through the village when the orcs attacked. She was able to heal me enough to stop the interior bleeding before she ran low on energy. She rested a bit, and then had to leave." And he would say nothing else.

* * *

"_Well, old one, it has been a long day of training. What say you to a bit of relaxation with a story?" asks a young man's voice._

"_Yes! Tell us a story!" says a female. There comes a heavy sigh and then an exasperated chuckle._

"_Alright," replies a male's gentle tenor. Now a different female laughs._

"_You give in so easily, love!" she exclaims. Her voice is a smooth alto. The tenor male's wry groan is joined by a baritone, and then the baritone says,_

"_You do not know these young ones! They are persistent!" The tenor snorts in an undignified manner._

"_Persistent, indeed!" he scoffs. "But I shall tell the tale nonetheless. Tell me, young one: Where did we leave off?"_

"_The prince was going to begin training his powers," replies the young male._

"_Ah, yes," replies the tenor. The male pauses, and when he continues, there is a note of tender sadness in the words he speaks._

"_This is a tale of the beginning of a great grief that haunted the prince many a long year, and of a great love that was torn asunder for an Age. I ask you, as I asked you before: Are you sure you wish to hear this tale?"_

"_Romance? Angst? Adventure?" the young female voice and the young male voice chorus together, tones incredulous. "Of course!" The tenor chuckles along with the baritone and the alto female._

"_Very well," the tenor says. "This tale begins in the year 2325 of the Second Age, 15 years after my last tale. Please note that many things had happened between these tales that were small but played a large part in making some of the events possible. If you desire to hear some of these stories at a later time, I would be glad to tell you, for they are adventures of peacetime, and often were quite humorous. I also tell you that I shall be vague in some of the details in this retelling, as not all are suitable for an audience's ears." There is a pause as the speaker gathers his thoughts._

"_I shall begin this tale with what was told to me…"_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or the Hobbit._

**_I know, it was long for a prologue. Probably longer than most of this fic's chapters, in fact. But I'm trying to tell two different scenes at the same time, here. If it was confusing, please let me know so that I can improve it.  
_**

**_And I know, you're probably thinking, "She's ALIVE?!" And you're about right. It's been 4 years since I updated anything on this account. I blame other addictions, college, work, and my own lack of inspiration for not finishing this sooner. To be honest, it was very difficult to do until I finally got over the "point of no return" hump with this story, and that only happened recently. It doesn't help that I lost half my plot notes and still haven't found them after three years. They're probably stashed somewhere in my filing cabinet at home, but I don't have the time, patience, or energy to find them. Thus, I finally said "Screw the notes" and wrote a new ending corresponding to what little I remember of the plot. Now that I've finished it, I've decided to post it. With The Hobbit coming out in December, I figured now would be a good time to get back into the Lord of the Rings swing of things.  
_**

**_For any of my old readers who are utterly AMAZED that I'm continuing this series after so long, I apologize profusely. You've been very patient, and I'm sure you thought I was dead at some point. Fortunately, I'm not. The final chapter of "Peacetime Adventures" will be posted as soon as I finish up here.  
_**

**_For anybody who is interested in what I've been up to for the past few years, check out my other profile here:  
_**

**_ www. fanfiction ~portraitofascribe_**

**_and HERE: elvenwhitemage. deviantart  
_**

**_Just remove all the spaces and add the_ _appropriate _dot-com _s, and you'll find me._  
**

**_Don't worry, everything will make sense by the end of this fic, I swear. Enjoy the fic!  
_**

_**Prologue posted 10-1-2012.**  
_

_-**GundamWingFanatic90**, a.k.a. **Portrait of a Scribe**  
_


	2. CHAPTER 1

_**Chapter 1 submitted 10-8-12.**_

_**Here's chapter 1. I'll try not to bore you with a long A/N this time around.**_

_**Summary: The year is 2325 of the Second Age. Fifteen years after the events of The Red Hunters, all is going fairly well in the Greenwood, but the Shadow continues to grow. Just when things begin to look up for Legolas, tragedy strikes. Battling against the madness that threatens to overtake him, nothing will ever be the same for the Crown Prince. PG 13 for language, violence, and romance.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or any related characters or works. They belong to Mister J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

* * *

_**THE GOLDEN WARRIOR.**__  
Book Four in the __IAUR MIN__ Series.  
By GundamWingFanatic90/Portrait of a Scribe._

* * *

_CHAPTER 1._

Near the southern border of the forest of Greenwood, the trees rustled as a light breeze caressed their topmost boughs. Along the ground a pair of squirrels chased each other in circles, and a bird twittered in its nest on a low-hanging branch.

Keen green eyes flicked around, watching for danger, and a slender, graceful hand absently tucked a stray strand of honey-golden hair behind a gently tapered ear. The owner of said appendage lifted a hand to her lips and blew; the sound of an owl's _kee-wick, kee-wick, wick-wick_ chirped into the air.

Abriel Sirien watched as her comrades moved forth in the trees, nigh invisible to the untrained eye. She also crept along her perch, following her subordinates along their preplanned route.

Abriel and her patrol had been chosen to go on this patrol to Southern Greenwood when the former patrol had returned. Their route was one that was undesired by all but the bravest and most reckless of teams, as it took them far from home and help. Often the southern patrols were gone for months at a time. They were cut off from their families and from aid, and if they were attacked, which rarely happened, they had to make do with what healing supplies they had or could gather. All in all, the southern patrol was dangerous, stressful, and, at times, lonely. Only a few teams, who were either young and reckless or very seasoned, ever willingly volunteered for this route.

Abriel's patrol was one such group. It consisted of seven elves, excluding Abriel herself. There were five males and two females. The males were named Morion, Adarion, Sîrion, Nimellon, and Aerion, respectively. The females were Eldawen and Celebriel. Abriel was the patrol's captain, rounding out the number to eight as the third female.

A tree rustled to Abriel's left, and she glanced over to see Morion crouched on a branch, his blue eyes bright behind strands of his long, black hair that had been pulled free of his warrior braids. He flashed a Morgoth-may-care grin at her, to which she replied with a pointed look and a raised eyebrow. Morion was younger than she by fifteen years, and had attempted to woo her since he had joined her patrol five years before. Morion gave her a mock-wounded look before moving on with a grin.

Behind him came Sîrion, his brown eyes dancing. His hair was brown save for two natural silver streaks that swept back from his temples into his braids. He also grinned at her, sheepishly shrugging at Morion's antics, before vanishing after his best friend.

To Abriel's right, Adarion and Eldawen leapt nimbly from a beech into a pine. Adarion's fully plaited raven hair arched behind him, thudding quietly against the pack on his back as he impacted with the pine, and he turned calm green eyes on Abriel before catching Eldawen. Her silver hair was done up in a braided bun, and her knowledgeable brown gaze thanked Adarion for his assistance before they both nodded to their captain and continued on their way.

Next to pass Abriel was Nimellon. His unusual hair, a striking white, was barely visible underneath the hood of his cloak. He had pulled it up to keep from standing out too much against the dark trees. Nimellon's strange red eyes glanced over his captain as he passed her, and she saw that he had smeared dust across the semi-translucent skin of his face to prevent visibility. He gave her a reassuring nod, and then he was gone.

Last to pass Abriel were Aerion and Celebriel. They were a lighthearted pair with raven and silver hair and dark blue eyes. Her best friends aside from Legolas and Ecthelion, Aerion and Celebriel were also the only twins native to Greenwood of Abriel's own age group. Usually they were joyful and inventive, but now they were serious, absorbed in staying safe. They nodded solemnly to her as they left.

Abriel smiled briefly before glancing over her shoulder as the sound of a twig snapping reached her ears, keen even for an elf. Her alert green eyes scanned the foliage sharply, but when she saw nothing she turned and continued on her patrol.

The group had already been patrolling Southern Greenwood for two and a half fortnights. A few minor spider problems had been all that they had encountered. As such, and considering that they were to head back to the main kingdom within the next week, Abriel had found that her subordinates were becoming more relaxed than they should be. She planned to give them a mild dressing-down for their laxness later that night.

However, she would never get the chance.

Just before sunset, the group was making its way through a particularly dense stand of trees. The little sunlight that had been present vanished as they entered the boughs, making their natural glows stand out more than usual. Visibility was poor, even for the elves, and Abriel ordered them all to the ground to avoid unnecessary danger, feeling that there was no threat on the ground.

The whole party was weary from their trek, which could partially be blamed for the disaster that followed. However, as it was, that weariness caused too many problems to escape that night.

The only warning that the elves received was the twanging of a bowstring before the ambush began. Morion was the first to fall, struck in the right shoulder by that original arrow. In an instant the elves had their weapons out, circling defensively around Morion's prone form.

The black shapes rushed them from the shadows, jabbing mercilessly at the elven forms and cackling gleefully whenever blood was drawn. Abriel ducked under a sweep that would have taken her head off, feeling Nimellon and Eldawen doing the same to either side of her. Abriel sidestepped a lunge and disemboweled her attacker with a slash of her twin knives. She danced forward and slit the throat of another orc, and then leapt back into her spot before one of the other enemies could take advantage of her vulnerable position.

Abriel saw Eldawen duck, and quickly lunged forward when the opening came. Eldawen covered her captain as Abriel yanked her knife out of the orc's chest, the darker-haired elf's short sword cutting the legs out from underneath an approaching orc.

Only moments into the battle, an elven scream of pain lanced through Abriel's ears.

"Celebriel!" she heard Aerion shout in alarm. Trusting Eldawen and Nimellon to cover her position, Abriel dipped back into their circle, leaping to defend Celebriel's fallen and bleeding form. The silver-haired warrior had been slashed across her stomach. She was still fighting, but could not aptly guard against the blows that rained down upon her.

"Celebriel, get to the center!" Abriel ordered over the din of the skirmish. Celebriel, with gritted teeth, did as she was told, dragging her bloody body over to Morion's gasping form.

By this time, many orcs lay dead around the elves. Sixteen dead by seven elves, it proved the soldiers' worth. However, the horde had not yet halted its charge. Instead, they kept coming, with their gnashing teeth and bulbous or beady eyes, swinging their jagged blades without much skill but with a horrid ferocity.

Seven more orcs were dead when Sîrion fell with a strangled shout, clutching his thigh where a long dagger was embedded into the flesh.

"Adarion, cover Sîrion!" Abriel yelled as she stabbed an orc between its eyes. "Sîrion, get into the center! Tighten the circle, everyone!" She ducked a stab and thrust both knives into the orc's throat before yanking them out. Vaguely, she realized that the others had done what she had ordered… and that she was being driven apart from her team.

Abriel ground her teeth in frustration as she used both of her knives to block an overhead chop. Her arms trembled as she struggled to fend off the attack.

_Valar, he's strong!_ she thought. Even her elven strength could not overcome this orc's own power. A flash of silver came at her from her right. She caught it with her peripheral vision and rolled out of the way of the blow, evading the first attack at the same time.

As Abriel pulled out of the roll and lifted herself to her feet, an orc brought the pommel of its blade in and bashed her across the forehead. Abriel saw stars for an instant as she fell backwards. But her body reacted by itself, instinctively bringing her into a backward handspring. She landed on her feet in time to parry a slash from her left, disembowel that orc, and dodge an arrow before the other two orcs were upon her once more. She ducked and rolled to avoid a pair of strikes and then killed those two with a swift series of slashes. Then Abriel spun around, knives up to block a strike…

…to meet with the sight of her companions and dead orc bodies. Abriel blinked, her mind not registering the battle's end right away. Then a sigh of relief slipped past her lips and she lowered her knives so that she could pick her way through the corpses to her team.

"Aerion, casualty report!" she called wearily. Aerion answered immediately from where he had knelt down to put pressure on Celebriel's wound.

"No deaths, but Morion, Celebriel, and Sîrion are badly wounded," he replied. His expression was grave. "Sîrion's is the least dire of the three. Morion and Celebriel need treatment immediately." His indigo eyes met her own beech-green ones, awaiting orders.

"Get them away from this place, and then we shall treat their wounds," Abriel commanded after an instant's deliberation. "Then we shall have to cut our patrol short and head home. Aran Thranduil must be told of this." Aerion and the rest nodded, and then they set to work. Nimellon and Aerion gently lifted Celebriel between them whilst Abriel, sheathing one knife, helped Sîrion to his feet, taking most of his weight onto herself. Eldawen and Adarion helped Morion up and allowed him to gain his balance before Eldawen let go. Adarion took most of Morion's weight, and Eldawen drew her bow and an arrow before the group moved off into the trees.

* * *

After putting a field dressing on the three elves' wounds, the group had immediately headed back north. It was a long, slow trek, but the elves carrying the wounded did not stop, even after night had long since fallen. Every so often they would switch off between keeping guard over the rest and carrying one of the three wounded. In this manner they trekked through the night, their paths unseen to outside eyes, their only visibility coming from their own sharp eyes and natural elven glows.

In the morning they halted long enough for a brief meal and to re-dress the wounds they had sustained. Then they continued on. Again they marched through the night, eating as they traveled. By the morning, Morion had developed a wheeze in his breath and he, Celebriel, and Sîrion were all running fevers.

"Captain, we must stop and try to bring their temperatures down!" Adarion exclaimed worriedly just before Sîrion, for whom he was acting as a crutch, stumbled. Sîrion suppressed a delirious moan when Adarion hastily caught him, and Adarion, after making sure the other elf had not been injured worse, looked pleadingly up at Abriel.

"Captain, we _must_ stop!" Abriel smiled grimly at him.

"I heard you the first time, Adarion," she said, stopping beneath an ancient oak. "We rest here!" Breathing a collective sigh of relief, her subordinates stopped. Nimellon settled Morion upon the ground next to Sîrion, and Eldawen and Aerion gently laid Celebriel's trembling form on a bed of old leaves before the five of them set to work. Abriel pulled some herbs from her pack and, crushing them, put them into her spare waterskin. She corked it and shook it vigorously, warming it with the heat of her hands. Then she offered some to Celebriel, whom she was nearest to. Abriel passed the medicine to Adarion after Celebriel had finished her dose. Adarion gave some of the medicine to Sîrion, and then Eldawen got it and dosed Morion. Then Abriel took it back, capped it, and put it away. She nodded to herself, and said,

"Everyone take some food and rest since we are already stopped. We move out again in a half-hour." She took out some bandages and began to re-dress Celebriel's wound, seeing Eldawen and Nimellon doing the same for Morion and Sîrion. All was silent for a moment.

"Captain," Aerion suddenly said. Abriel briefly glanced up at him to show that she was listening. "What do you think those orcs were doing in our forest?"

Abriel's hands paused in her ministrations, and then she kept working.

"It could have been any of a thousand reasons, Aerion," Abriel replied at last. "It might have been that they came to settle, or to hunt. It could have been that they decided to start a raid." She was silent again for a moment. Then she continued, her voice hushed in solemn dread, "Or it could be that evil is gathering in Greenwood's southern reaches. Attacks are becoming more common, be they made by spider or orc, or by other evil being." Her brow furrowed as her subordinates exchanged anxious glances.

"Captain," ventured Eldawen as she tied off Morion's bandage. "Do you think that Annatar will venture to make a stronghold in Greenwood?"

Abriel was silent in contemplation. Long minutes dragged by as she finished changing Celebriel's bandages.

"He might," the captain replied after a while. "Which is why we must hurry to pass the news of our ambush on to the king as soon as is possible. Now rest. You've still got a quarter hour. Sleep, and I shall keep the watch."

Eldawen and the others nodded, and when the ministrations were all finished, the companions' eyes glazed over as they forced themselves into sleep. And then all was silent as Abriel took up her watch in the gathering night.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or the Hobbit. I only own the faces you DON'T recognize.  
_

_**Chapter 2 will be posted 10-15-12.**_

_**And here's chapter 1. For those of you who remember, Abriel Sirien is Legolas' best friend from the first three Iaur Min "books". Legolas will come in next chapter. Thank you to the people who have looked at this fic so far, and to the person who reviewed: **__**Firecracker27**__**, who thought the prologue was "interesting…"**_

_**For anybody who is interested in what I've been up to for the past few years, check out my other profile here:**_

_**FFN Author penname: "Portrait of a Scribe"**_

_**and DeviantART penname: "ElvenWhiteMage"**_

_**Don't worry, everything will make sense by the end of this fic, I swear. Enjoy!**_

_**Chapter 1 posted 10-8-2012.**_

_-__**GundamWingFanatic90**__, a.k.a. __**Portrait of a Scribe**_


	3. CHAPTER 2

**_Chapter 2 submitted 10-16-12._**

**_Here's chapter 2._**

**_Summary: The year is 2325 of the Second Age. Fifteen years after the events of The Red Hunters, all is going fairly well in the Greenwood, but the Shadow continues to grow. Just when things begin to look up for Legolas, tragedy strikes. Battling against the madness that threatens to overtake him, nothing will ever be the same for the Crown Prince. PG 13 for language, violence, and romance._**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or any related characters or works. They belong to Mister J.R.R. Tolkien._**

* * *

**_THE GOLDEN WARRIOR._**_  
Book Four in the IAUR MIN Series.  
By GundamWingFanatic90/Portrait of a Scribe._

* * *

_CHAPTER 2._

At 102 sun years old, Legolas Thranduilion, Crown Prince of Greenwood, was supposed to be mature and disciplined enough to sit through the settling of trading matters calmly. This meant no fidgeting, no dozing, and no straying of attention. He was currently succeeding marvelously in the first two, but his mind was anywhere but on the voice of the Lothlórien representative who was speaking.

Four days ago he had awoken abruptly from a doze, his heart pounding, covered in sweat, chest heaving. He could not recall what had startled him so, but it nevertheless lingered in his mind. A bad feeling had made itself a home in Legolas' immortal heart since that instant. This foreboding was what was now occupying his thoughts.

"Prince Legolas?" asked a baritone voice. Legolas blinked, focusing back in on the fair-haired elf before him. "Are you well?"

Legolas smiled distractedly. "Aye, I am fine. Just some solemn notions that are now gone." The elf smiled a half-grin, a corner of his mouth lifting to reveal pearly white teeth.

"I am nearly done, anyway," he said. Legolas nodded in reply, pointedly ignoring his father's small, knowing grin. The delegate continued to exchange words with Thranduil for a short number of minutes. Then Thranduil dismissed the court, and he and Legolas left the throne room.

Once they were alone in the hallway, the king turned to his son, gazing sharply into the younger elf's silver eyes.

"What has got you so distracted, Legolas?" Thranduil asked. Obviously he was not in the mood to skirt the issue. Legolas grimaced before answering, eyes downcast.

"Four days ago I was woken from my sleep by a strong sense that something was wrong," he replied briefly. "I know not what it stems from, but it has not left, and it has not lessened in its strength." He sighed, pressing two fingers to his temple and massaging it.

"I've not properly slept since then, and when I do, my dreams are of darkness, and blood, and sicknesses caused by poison," he continued. Legolas then fell silent, perturbed, and Thranduil watched him, contemplating.

"There is no explanation for it that I can find," the prince said after a spell. Thranduil sighed with a small, sympathetic smile, and put a hand on his son's shoulder. Their eyes met.

"Sometimes there is no explanation," he said. "But mayhap you should speak with your mother of it. Go on. I shall distract your grandfather long enough for you to seek some theories." Thranduil grinned suddenly. "You know how he loves to see your progress as a warrior and prince. I suggest you hurry, ion-nin."

Legolas managed to crack a small smile at his father's attempt to cheer him up, and pulled away to clasp Thranduil's forearm.

"Hannon le, adar," the prince murmured. Then he was gone.

Thranduil sighed after Legolas turned the corner, and ran a hand through his golden bangs.

"His heart grows more troubled by the day," said a deep voice from behind him. Thranduil nodded before turning to face the Lothlórien delegate, whose emerald eyes glittered in the flickering candlelight.

"Aye, indeed he does," the king agreed. "And day by day he grows more solemn. Have you any advice, adar?" Oropher's lips quirked in a half-smile.

"Unfortunately, I do not," he admitted. "Neither you nor your sister ever had visions such as your son describes, and your mother certainly never lost sleep over much of anything." Laughing, Oropher unceremoniously flung an arm across Thranduil's shoulders.

"But enough of that!" he exclaimed. "This is your lunchtime! Shall we go and sample some of your famed Dorwinion over some food?" Now Thranduil laughed, allowing his father to steer him toward the cellars.

"Aye, indeed!"

Legolas had found his mother in the gardens, where she often lingered at this time of day. She was sitting on a bench, a thin board upon her lap, sketching an old pine tree across the path. As Legolas approached, Andiach grinned and put her stick of charcoal aside, holding her drawing up triumphantly. Then she looked over at him as she sensed his presence.

"Legolas!" she exclaimed, eyes alight. He smiled at her enthusiasm.

"Naneth," he greeted sedately. Andiach calmed herself when she felt her son's solemn mood, and laid her sketch aside, patting the spot next to her. He sat wordlessly.

"What do you wish to speak to me about?" Andiach asked, watching his face lightheartedly. He smiled a bit more, but then he sobered as he haltingly began to tell her what he had told his father. Andiach listened without comment until Legolas fell silent once more, and then she waited a moment before speaking.

"You say that you've been haunted by a feeling of dread and that your dreams are of an evil ilk," she said. He nodded. "It could be several things, ion-nin. It could merely be the anxieties of a warrior prince surfacing, or it could be your developing abilities. It could be that someone you care deeply for is, or was, in danger, and that you have sensed it, causing you to have these dreams." She paused, silver eyes searching Legolas' face intently.

"This is the first time such things have happened, am I correct?" He hesitated, but that was enough of an answer for Andiach's sharp mind.

"When has this occurred before?" she inquired. Legolas winced.

"I have dreams occasionally," he hedged. "Dreams of lands that I have never been to, people I have never met. Some of the dreams are good, and some are frighteningly evil." Andiach's mood dropped with every word until she was staring with open concern into Legolas' face.

"What do you see in these dreams?" He looked at her in confusion.

"I beg your pardon?" Andiach stared sternly at him.

"Tell me exactly what you see in these dreams," she replied. "Describe these people and places to me." Legolas hesitated before lowering his gaze to the ground.

"I see much of Glorfindel in the good dreams," he quietly answered at length. "And I see much of a grown elf in the likeness of my brother. There is also a dark-haired human man, and a silver-haired elleth, and a small boy-child, and a raven-haired ellon dressed in the robes of royalty. In these dreams, I see a white city of wealth that does not exist in these lands. It is surrounded by the high walls of a mountain, and there is a river that flows through three carved tunnels in the cliff walls."

He paused, eyes darkening to sapphire as black memories sifted through his thoughts. Andiach's suspicion and alarm mounted as he continued, "In the bad dreams, I see the city burning. I see orcs and other creatures of darkness slaughtering elves. I see the elf who bears the face of my brother dying as he slays a great creature of ash and flame. There is a secret path that the silver-haired elleth leads many people on, and I see Glorfindel battling a creature of flame like the other elf was, and then I see them fall into a black chasm. I see myself fighting a sea of orcs. There is a pain in my throat and head, and then everything fades to a warm blackness before I awake in a cold sweat." Legolas knew that he was not telling the whole truth. However, he did not want his mother to know how he dreamt that he had fought with arrows through his neck and thigh for an hour longer than he had said before taking two more to his chest and a slash to his head. No, he could not tell Andiach about that.

Now Legolas looked to Andiach, eyes questioning.

"What think you of these visions?" he asked. He already knew the answer, had known it for a long time, but he wished to see what his mother thought. Andiach was silent, her gaze fixed upon the ground before them, face pale and eyes sad.

"I…" she began slowly, but she trailed off. After a moment, she opened her mouth to start again, but this time she was interrupted. A messenger had run into the yard. His clear, blue eyes searched about before alighting upon the royal pair. Then he ran over to them and bowed.

"Bereth Andiach, Ernil Legolas," the messenger greeted. Then he looked at Legolas. "Ernil-nin, you are wanted in the throne room. Aran Thranduil says that it is a matter of great importance." Legolas nodded, getting to his feet.

"Hannon le," he said. "You've delivered your message well." He turned to his mother, bowing. "I apologize, naneth, but I am called away. Shall I see you at the evening meal?"

Andiach smiled tightly.

"Aye, I shall see you then," she replied. Legolas nodded, and then turned and exited the gardens, the messenger following behind him.

Legolas took his place at his father's left hand in silence, nodding respectfully to Thranduil as he went. As Thranduil motioned for the elf who wished an audience to be allowed in, Legolas stood stock-still. His only visible reaction was a stiffening of his back as the elves were ushered in.

The two were grimy and bloodstained, but the Crown Prince of Greenwood immediately recognized them as Abriel and her second-in-command, Nimellon. They briskly made their way to the throne, and then kneeled before the dais upon which Thranduil sat and Legolas stood.

"State your names, ranks, and business," Thranduil commanded, as per custom. Abriel and Nimellon stood up and bowed with some difficulty before straightening once again.

"Hîr-nin, I am Abriel Sirien, captain of the thirteenth patrol," Abriel stated.

"And I am Nimellon Aduialion, her second-in-command," Nimellon continued.

Abriel went on, "We bring you grave news from the southern borders."

The king's brow creased faintly, and he and Legolas exchanged a glance before Thranduil motioned for Abriel to continue.

"Go on," he ordered. The elleth nodded briskly, winced a little, and then kept speaking her report.

"Four days ago, my patrol and I were ambushed along the southern patrol route we were assigned to. We disposed of the orcs who attacked us, but three of our number were gravely wounded in the process." She paused.

"My lords," Nimellon interjected slowly, his bass voice a low rumble in the room. "We think, judging by the increased number of orcs along our southern borders, that an evil entity may be centralizing there. We are not, as you know, the only patrol to have been attacked in recent times."

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully, but guilt was gnawing at Legolas' heart. He had been the one to organize the recent southern patrols. But Abriel was speaking again, and Legolas wrenched himself back to the present.

"The orcs we fought used a new kind of poison on their weapons," she said. She blinked rapidly as blood dripped into her left eye from a gash across her forehead. "Eldawen, our healer, managed to retrieve a sample from one of the weapons for analysis."

Abriel paused again, long enough to reach up and use her dirty sleeve to swipe some of the blood off of her face. It did little more than smear it across her skin. "My lords, the orcs seem to be organizing, and they seem to be getting more aggressive and crafty."

Again, Thranduil nodded, his face grave.

"These are ill tidings, indeed," he admitted. "But I thank you for bringing them to me. Now go, and tend your wounds." They did as they were told. Legolas felt his stomach lurch as Abriel stumbled, but she righted herself with Nimellon's aid. The pair bowed, Abriel wincing as she did so, and then they slowly left the hall. As the great doors closed behind them, Legolas felt his heart drop like a stone into his stomach, the guilt paining him.

"…golas… Legolas!" The Crown Prince blinked, coming out of his reverie. He turned to Thranduil from where he had been staring after Abriel.

"Yes, Aran-nin?" Legolas inquired. Thranduil gazed at him in open concern.

"I was going to tell you something, but you were not paying attention," the king replied. He peered into his son's troubled sapphire eyes. "Are you alright, ion-nin?" Legolas forced a half-smile to appear on his face.

"I am fine, adar," he replied. "However, I do not think that I will be hungry for supper this night. Will you please pass my apologies along to my mother?" Thranduil searched Legolas' eyes for a second longer before nodding.

"Aye, I will," he replied. Legolas bowed.

"Hannon le," he whispered.

* * *

Two turns of the hour found the Crown Prince sitting on the bank of a secluded creek in the forest. He stared darkly into the burbling water, eyes sapphire.

He could have done something to prevent the ambush that had hit Abriel's patrol. He should have assigned them to the eastern borders instead of the southern. Why had he not known this was to happen?

Absently, Legolas raised a hand toward the creek. A sphere of water rose into the air and floated over to rest, swirling, in his palm. His thoughts were swirling in much the same way.

Suddenly Abriel's face floated to the forefront of his thoughts. Guilt tinged his emotions more than they previously had, but his heart fluttered slightly. The sensation surprised him, but he soon ignored it.

_Abriel,_ he thought slowly. _She's been my best friend since we first met when we were only five sun years old. Why does my heart soar when I think of her?_ He paused, eyes flickering to a light sky-blue color as he gazed at the water in his hand.

Legolas' thoughts had left him absent-minded, and in his distraction, he had unwittingly formed the water into a likeness of his best friend, who was also the subject of his thoughts. The water-Abriel's eyes were dancing with mirth and, to Legolas' amazement, what seemed to be love and painful affection. The smile was the gentle curve of her bow-shaped lips, and the head was cocked studiously to the side.

Frankly, the prince was surprised that his subconscious had dredged up this image from his memories. He was also surprised that he saw his best friend as being that beautiful.

_Could it be…?_ he asked himself silently. With a jolt, he thought, _Am I in love with her?_

He paused again. It made some sense, and certainly explained why he could never keep his thoughts far from her during peacetime. It also told him why he had been dreaming the things he had.

_I love her,_ he thought. _I love her._ A burden seemed to lift from his heart. A small smile spread across his face.

"I love her." And the watery likeness gently splashed back into the creek.

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or the Hobbit._

**_Chapter 3 will be posted 10-22-12._**

**_And here's chapter 2. Is anybody even reading this fic, still?  
_**

**_Anyway, in case you haven't read the other fics, the whole "magic water" thing is something I established in book 2, The Red Hunters. Basically, Legolas can cast magic in a different way than other elves because he is half-Wetharin (my own creations). The easiest way to explain this is that he has some of the magical capabilities of the Elves from Christopher Paolini's Eragon series (Inheritance Cycle), but they are completely different from them, at the same time.  
_**

**_If anybody wants to hear about the Wethrim, either tell me in a review or in a PM, and I'll post it at the end of the next chapter.  
_**

**_For anybody who is interested in what I've been up to for the past few years, check out my other profile here:  
FFN Author penname: "Portrait of a Scribe"  
and DeviantART penname: "ElvenWhiteMage"_**

**_Don't worry, everything will make sense by the end of this fic, I swear.  
_**

_-**GundamWingFanatic90**, a.k.a. **Portrait of a Scribe**_


	4. CHAPTER 3

**_Chapter 3 submitted 11-27-12._**

**_Summary: The year is 2325 of the Second Age. Fifteen years after the events of The Red Hunters, all is going fairly well in the Greenwood, but the Shadow continues to grow. Just when things begin to look up for Legolas, tragedy strikes. Battling against the madness that threatens to overtake him, nothing will ever be the same for the Crown Prince. PG 13 for language, violence, and romance._**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or any related characters or works. They belong to Mister J.R.R. Tolkien._**

* * *

**_THE GOLDEN WARRIOR._**_  
Book Four in the IAUR MIN Series.  
By GundamWingFanatic90/Portrait of a Scribe._

* * *

_CHAPTER 3._

The healers had told her to take it easy, that she had a concussion and had lost a lot of blood. But Abriel's definition of 'easy' had never, in all her 102 sun years alive, agreed with the definition that the healers went by.

Abriel had heard that Legolas had decided to skip dinner after she had given her report. Having known him for as long as she had, she knew that he was blaming himself again for what had happened to her and her patrol. That was the way he was, and that was why she was currently searching for him.

The captain's heart fluttered at the thought of the Crown Prince. She had known for a long time that what she felt for her best friend went far beyond simple friendship. She had known since the instant they met, though at the time she had not known just what it was that she felt. Now she was older and wiser, and she knew Legolas better than she knew herself. This is why she also knew where to look for her elusive best friend.

She came upon him upon the bank of a stream that they had oftentimes played at as children. He had his legs bent close to his chest, elbows resting casually upon them. His gaze was far away, and she caught sight of a ball of water melting back into the stream as she approached.

"I love her." The whisper was barely audible even to her ears, but it sent a pang of sadness through her that halted her forward motion immediately. She watched unobtrusively as his face turned grim again.

All was silent for a spell before Abriel forced her feet to move again. She walked until she was next to him, paused as he looked up at her before looking away again, and then she wordlessly sat down beside him, unconsciously imitating his pose.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. Abriel waited patiently, gathering enough of Legolas' mood to tell that he would speak if given enough time.

Her patience paid off when, a half-hour later, Legolas stirred and opened his mouth.

"…I knew you had run into trouble." She blinked at the unexpected comment, but said nothing.

"I awoke four days ago in a cold sweat, an overwhelming sensation of dread and fear taking my heart," he continued as though she had replied. "I did not know the cause then, but now I know that I was sensing the danger you had been suddenly placed in." He paused, his eyes fluttering over to her. Abriel gazed back steadily, understanding in her own summer-green orbs. His face contorted as though in pain when she remained silent.

"You are angered with me." It was a statement that took her aback. Abriel quickly shook her head, alarmed.

"Nay! I bear you no ill will at all!" she exclaimed. Her fair brow was creased in confusion and worry as she watched Legolas turn to glare at his knees again.

"Then why do you silent remain? Have you nothing to say?" His voice was so forlorn that it nearly brought tears to Abriel's eyes. She sighed, a small smile forcing itself to her lips.

"I didn't know whether or not you had anything more to say," she admitted. "It seems that whilst I was mulling over your statements in my head, you misunderstood my silence. Nay, Legolas, I'm not angered at you." Abriel paused, eyes settling upon the stream as she thought.

"Did you know," Abriel began after a moment, "that, when you and your mother were attacked by orcs fifteen years ago, I could feel it?" She felt Legolas turn his eyes onto her, though he said nothing. "I was in the middle of a patrol at the time, and just as I was landing on a branch post-leap, my heart clenched and my limbs grew weak. I fell out of my tree."

Legolas' disbelief was nearly palpable, and she looked over at him, amused.

Raising an eyebrow, Abriel said, "Surprising, is it not? But it happened nonetheless. Nimellon, who was my captain at that time, sent me back to the palace in fear that I had somehow been poisoned." Abriel looked away from Legolas, staring at her knees. "That's why I was home when you returned from Imladris, and that's also how I discovered that you had been attacked at the same time as I felt that sensation." Abriel fell silent again, feeling the prince's eyes studying her.

"Why, though?" he asked at long last. Abriel jumped a little at the question, and hesitated before a light blush spread across her face.

"It's said that some, with a bond so close that their souls are nearly entwined, can sense each other's emotions. Sometimes they can even read each other's thoughts," she murmured quietly. "I know why I could sense you, but not why you could sense me."

Abriel's heart began to pound when Legolas, voice husky with an unnamable emotion, asked, "Why?"

Abriel swallowed with difficulty. He just _had_ to ask _that_ question. Now she faced the dilemma of whether or not to answer him. As it was, either option presented distinct advantages and disadvantages. On one hand, their relationship would remain one of friends, and she would not face rejection. On the other hand, she could tell him and take their relationship to the next level, or he would reject her, leaving their friendship either strained or nonexistent. The consequences were difficult either way, so Abriel made her decision without further thought and acted upon it before she could talk herself out of it.

Straightening up, Abriel lifted a hand. Placing it on Legolas' pale cheek, she leaned in to him, pausing a centimeter away so that he could pull away if he wanted. She could taste his warm breath floating across her lips. When he remained motionless, she closed the remaining distance between them, slowly shutting her eyes as her lips brushed against his.

It was to her everlasting surprise when he kissed her back, and it was then that she knew that their fates were sealed.

* * *

It was darker than usual when a figure alighted on a bedroom balcony several nights later. Abriel glanced around before silently opening one of the balcony doors and edging inside. Pausing behind the curtains, she listened for any movement that would have signified pursuit or detection. When no sound reached her sensitive ears, she sighed silently. Then she gingerly moved the hangings an inch to the side to peer into the room beyond.

She spotted her target on the bed, covered to the waist with the sheet. His chest rose and fell gently and slowly as he slept upon his stomach, his hair loose, spread like a halo across his pillow. A small smile moved her lips, and when she was positive that there was no one else in the room, she slipped silently out into the chamber.

Abriel crossed the floor in four long strides, and circumvented the foot of the bed before standing over her target's sleeping form. She watched him sleep for a moment. Then she knelt upon the edge of the mattress and, reaching out, brushed her fingers in the lightest of touches along his right bicep.

His eyes cleared instantly, and he blinked sleepily up at her, an inquisitive gleam in his eyes as he lifted himself onto his forearms and turned to face her.

"Abriel?" he inquired softly. "What-?" Her finger on his lips silenced him, and he blinked up at her slowly, becoming more comprehensive as the seconds passed. Abriel smiled softly before leaning down and gently capturing his lips with hers. She kissed him tenderly for a moment before pulling away, her hands easing him down onto his back whilst her fingertips traced idle patterns on the bare skin of his shoulders.

"Im meleth le, Legolas," Abriel breathed. She heard- and felt- him take in a sharp breath, and they froze for an eternal instant, staring into each other's eyes. Then his hand was lightly gripping the back of her neck, and he was kissing her. When they parted for air again, her heart was racing, and there were butterflies in her stomach. His quiet voice was rich and husky as he replied,

"Anim meleth le, Abriel." And then he kissed her again. It was to be the start of something that was both beautiful and tragic.

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or the Hobbit._

**_Chapter 4 will be posted 12-3-12._**

**_And here's chapter 3. Late, I know... Is anybody even reading this fic, still?  
_**

**_Anyway, in case you haven't read the other fics, the whole "magic water" thing is something I established in book 2, The Red Hunters. Basically, Legolas can cast magic in a different way than other elves because he is half-Wetharin (my own creations). The easiest way to explain this is that he has some of the magical capabilities of the Elves from Christopher Paolini's Eragon series (Inheritance Cycle), but they are completely different from them, at the same time.  
_**

**_If anybody wants to hear about the Wethrim, either tell me in a review or in a PM, and I'll post it at the end of the next chapter.  
_**

**_For anybody who is interested in what I've been up to for the past few years, check out my other profile here:  
FFN Author penname: "Portrait of a Scribe"  
and DeviantART penname: "ElvenWhiteMage"_**

**_Don't worry, everything will make sense by the end of this fic, I swear.  
_**

_-**GundamWingFanatic90**, a.k.a. **Portrait of a Scribe**_


	5. CHAPTER 4

_**Chapter 4 submitted 12-26-12.**_

_**Summary: The year is 2325 of the Second Age. Fifteen years after the events of The Red Hunters, all is going fairly well in the Greenwood, but the Shadow continues to grow. Just when things begin to look up for Legolas, tragedy strikes. Battling against the madness that threatens to overtake him, nothing will ever be the same for the Crown Prince. PG 13 for language, violence, and romance.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or any related characters or works. They belong to Mister J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

* * *

_**THE GOLDEN WARRIOR.**__  
Book Four in the __IAUR MIN__ Series.  
By GundamWingFanatic90/Portrait of a Scribe._

* * *

_CHAPTER 4._

_Legolas,_

_I am sorry to have left without bidding you farewell in person, but I was called away rather abruptly. I shall return in a short time, meleth-nin. Worry not for me._

_Im meleth le, Legolas._

_Abriel._

Legolas sighed, pocketing the crumpled letter after reading it for the fifth time in as many minutes. It had been four months since his and Abriel's unannounced Bonding, and every time one of them left for a patrol- namely Abriel- they told each other not to worry. Abriel did not, as far as he knew. However, it seemed that she had not yet learned that he worried about her whenever she was away, anyway.

Pushing his thoughts away, Legolas entered the throne room through the back door, nodding to his father as he took his place to the king's left. Thranduil returned the greeting, one eyebrow raised in concerned curiosity, but brushed it off and nodded to the guard at the main door. Bowing, the guard turned to open the doors for the first of the day's petitioners.

He never got the chance to, though, as they were thrown open from the other side to admit an elf whom Legolas recognized as one of the patrol leaders he had sent out nearly two days ago.

The elf who all but tumbled through the chamber doors had brown hair and muddy brown eyes. His face was smeared with dirt and blood, and he limped as he ran. He made it up to the throne before kneeling, foregoing a bow. It only testified to his battered state.

"My lords!" he exclaimed. His voice was desperate and raspy, though strong. "My lords, orcs gather in the south! They are ambushing the patrols and killing all they can!" He looked up at them, worry clear in his eyes. "Please! We must warn them!"

Legolas cast an alarmed glance to his father, but found the king's face to be stonily grave.

"It shall be done," Thranduil said. "Legolas." Legolas immediately moved to kneel before the king at the sound of his name, every inch the warrior prince that he was.

"Aran-nin," he acknowledged.

"Take this man to the infirmary," Thranduil commanded. "Then organize three parties to round up the patrols." Legolas bowed briskly.

"Sire," he acquiesced brusquely. Then he stood, helping the patrol leader up, and half-carried him out of the chamber.

* * *

Half an hour later, Legolas was running through the trees, the elves of Abriel's usual patrol following closely. Abriel had gone out with the elves of Legolas' patrol on Thranduil's orders that morning. Now Legolas and the elves of Abriel's patrol were racing to find them before the orcs did.

The Crown Prince paused for the briefest of moments to listen. The clang and din of battle met his sharp ears, and he hastened in the direction it was coming from. One hundred meters passed. A scream tore through the dense air. Fifty more meters flew by. The noise suddenly fell silent. Ten meters. The only sound Legolas could hear was the panicked pounding of his own terrified heart in his ears.

He came upon the clearing at a dead sprint, eyes catching the shapes of fleeing orcs in the trees before alighting on the bloodied forms that littered the ground.

The patrol had been decimated.

Legolas' chest heaved from his frenzied flight. His heart thundered in his rib cage. His muscles felt like white-hot brands. But the Crown Prince did not care.

As soon as his eyes fell upon Abriel's prone form, he uttered a cry of despair pure and true, and dashed over to kneel beside her. Around him he could hear the others of Abriel's patrol checking his own troops for signs of life, but he barely registered them. He only had eyes for the elleth before him.

Abriel's body was a mess. Blood streamed from a cut on her forehead, and the shafts of no less than three arrows protruded from high on her left shoulder, just beneath her right breast, and the middle of her left leg, respectively. A stab wound marred her right shoulder just above her collarbone. Various other bruises and cuts disfigured her neck and arms and legs. But one of the most horrible things he saw was that her hair, which she had long prided herself on and which was one of the only vanities she allowed herself, had been shorn off just above her shoulders.

Legolas choked back a sob as he gathered her to him, pulling her bloody and unmoving form into his lap. He took a shaky breath, feeling for her pulse. It was faint and erratic, but it was there.

"Legolas?" The whisper was nearly nonexistent. Legolas' sharp ears picked it up, though, and he looked at Abriel's face to see her green eyes half-open. Their normal beech-leaf hue had become dull and glassy, and they were glazed with the haze of approaching doom. Legolas choked on a sob at the helpless look in those eyes he loved so much, and he pressed a finger to her lips, shaking his head.

"Do not speak," he ordered softly, voice shaking. He looked over his shoulder, eyes wild and navy in fear and grief. Calling for Eldawen, he was alarmed when Abriel's back arched in pain.

"Legolas!" Abriel gasped out, choking on blood. She reflexively coughed it out, spraying it into the air in fine droplets. He helped her onto her side so that she could get it out easier. He did not even notice his blood-splattered face. When he was sure she would not choke again, he allowed her to settle, lax, into his arms once more. He frantically looked over his shoulder again.

"Eldawen!" he called. He saw her look up, clearly irritated, from where she was tending to an elf with black hair that Legolas recognized as his lieutenant, Tinnuion.

"I cannot, my prince!" Eldawen yelled. "There are too many wounded for me to tend to at once! She'll have to wait!" Legolas checked his temper and tongue, knowing that healers had to be nearly indiscriminate about who they healed first.

"Hurry, then!" he replied before turning back to Abriel. She was gasping around the pain and the blood in her lung, but she seemed to be trying to tell him something. He tried to silence her, but she protested weakly, using some of her little remaining strength to reach up and grasp his hand.

"Legolas," she sputtered. "They took two of them!" She coughed again. "The orcs took Ëariel and Celebrannon!" He tried to shush her.

"Save your strength," he murmured roughly, trying to fight back the tears in his eyes and voice. She shook her head weakly.

"No!" she mumbled. "I must…" She struggled to speak through the agony and the blood, coughing violently. "I've got to… tell you…!" Legolas fought back his tears once more as he pressed a finger to her moving lips.

"Don't speak, Abriel! I beg you, save your strength!" he rasped. The lump in his throat seemed to have swollen, and he gulped back the moisture in his eyes as Abriel weakly tossed her head from side to side in a semblance of a negative.

"I'm sorry, Legolas," Abriel whispered. She gagged on blood and her body forcibly expelled it from her. Blinking away the crimson liquid from his eyes, he laid a hand on her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away some of the marring scarlet from her too-pale skin.

"Why do you apologize? You've done nothing wrong," he managed to get out. She hissed in pain, her back arching slightly.

"I've… been av-voiding y-you," she stammered. Legolas blanched, not at her statement, but at the notion that she seemed to be going into shock. "Legolas… I-I'm sorry, m-meleth-n-nin." Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out save for a strangled note. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"What for?" he managed to whisper. Her pain-glazed green eyes met his, and he saw that an overwhelming grief had pushed the fear back to become the dominant emotion.

"I-I'm sorry," she breathed. "I only… found out… t-two weeks ag-go…" To Legolas' horror, Abriel's breath hitched in what seemed to be a sob, and tears trickled out of her eyes to land in her blood-wet hair. The motions caused even more blood to well in her throat, and Legolas gently turned her onto her side again so she could properly cough out the crimson lifeline. His shoulders shook as he again half-heartedly fought back a wail of emotional agony.

Then her glossy eyes were staring imploringly up at him, and he watched as she swallowed as best she could. Her lips, normally so rosy, had taken on an alarming shade of white-blue. Her cheeks had taken on the red of spilled blood, and under that, the ashen color of a living being about to become a corpse. But he stymied his hushings, seeing the need to speak in her eyes.

"Nimellon!" he called over his shoulder.

"Aye!"

"Track down the orcs that did this. Stay out of sight and return when you've found them." Legolas' voice was deadened with grief. There was a poignant pause.

"Aye, ernil-nin," Nimellon replied. Then Legolas heard the faint sounds of Abriel's surrogate brother leaving, and the prince looked back down to his dying lover.

"I was to…" Abriel began. Her breath hitched as tears streamed down her cheeks, and after a pause to regain her composure, she continued, "T-Two weeks ago I s-started to feel strange… I-I… I w-went t-to the heal-ler t-to… fin-nd out-t what w-was wrong…" Now she openly released a gasping sob, her tears coming even faster. Her hand clutched his tighter, but even so, her grip was weak.

"I-I beg forgiveness f-for m-my carelessn-ness, b-but…" Here she paused again, seeming to gather her nerve. Her voice rose as she fought to keep from choking. "I c-cannot reg-gret-t c-carrying your ch-child!" Legolas' eyes widened significantly in shock, his mouth falling open. He was going to be a father?! A small smile slowly spread across his face.

_I'm going to be a father!_ he thought joyfully. But then the harsh reality set in again, and he stared fearfully down at his lover.

"Then don't die, Abriel!" he nearly shouted. He almost registered the impalpable surprise that radiated from the team behind him, and turned around, eyes desperate as Abriel gagged again. "Eldawen!"

Eldawen cast him a sad glance, finishing up on her current task and dashing over to the pair. Legolas heard light footsteps in the foliage as Nimellon returned, but he paid him no mind as Eldawen started to work on Abriel. The other captain's eyes never left the prince's, the green glazing with tears.

"Please, Abriel!" Legolas whispered, holding her hand and stroking her hair as they laid her gingerly upon the blood-soaked earth. "You've made me so happy I could burst, but before anything else happens, you _must_ live!" He leaned closer to her, making sure she could see the desperation in his navy orbs. She stared at him, gasping, for a second.

"I will," she finally whispered. Then her body seized up and she gritted her teeth to bear the pain. Eldawen cast Legolas a worried look.

"Promise me!" Legolas begged. Abriel's mouth opened and closed once, twice.

"I promise!" she gasped out after a struggle. "P-Please, L-Leg-golas, g-go af-ft-ter th-the orcs! G-Get-t Ëariel a-and C-Celebrannon b-bac-ck!"

"Abriel…!"

"P-Please!" Her stammering cry was what convinced him. He looked imploringly into her eyes.

"Stay alive, Abriel," he whispered, and then placed a tender, lingering kiss on her forehead before brushing his lips against hers for two heartbeats. Then he straightened and looked to Eldawen.

"Take care of them," Legolas commanded. It was more of a plea. Eldawen's eyes softened, and she nodded.

"I shall care for her," the silver-haired healer affirmed. He nodded gratefully and got to his feet.

"Adarion!" Legolas barked. Adarion was immediately at his side. "Stay with Eldawen and assist her in any way she needs. Make sure everyone who can stays alive." Adarion nodded firmly, a determined glint in his eyes, and knelt next to Abriel at his wife's silent instruction. Legolas, steeling himself, turned to the rest of the patrol.

"The rest of you, come with me," he ordered. His voice gained strength and steel with every word. Then he led them into the trees, following Nimellon to where he had found the orcs. A murderous light was kindled in Legolas' navy eyes. As the darkness of the trees swallowed them up, a piercing scream of agony rang out behind them.

Legolas flinched, but did not look back.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or the Hobbit._

_**Chapter 5 will be posted 12-31-12.**_

_**And here's chapter 4. My sincerest apologies. Between finals and Christmastime madness, it just fell by the wayside, and I am most sorry for that. Please forgive me, my readers!**_

_**If anybody wants to hear about the Wethrim, either tell me in a review or in a PM, and I'll post it at the end of the next chapter. And for anybody who is interested in what I've been up to for the past few years, check out my other profile here:  
FFN Author penname: "Portrait of a Scribe"  
and DeviantART penname: "ElvenWhiteMage"**_

_**Don't worry, everything will make sense by the end of this fic, I swear.**_

_-__**GundamWingFanatic90**__, a.k.a. __**Portrait of a Scribe**_


	6. CHAPTER 5

_**Chapter 5 submitted 5-23-13.**_

_**Summary: The year is 2325 of the Second Age. Fifteen years after the events of The Red Hunters, all is going fairly well in the Greenwood, but the Shadow continues to grow. Just when things begin to look up for Legolas, tragedy strikes. Battling against the madness that threatens to overtake him, nothing will ever be the same for the Crown Prince. PG 13 for language, violence, and romance.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or any related characters or works. They belong to Mister J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

* * *

_**THE GOLDEN WARRIOR.**__  
Book Four in the __IAUR MIN__ Series.  
By GundamWingFanatic90/Portrait of a Scribe._

* * *

_CHAPTER 5._

Light elven feet impacted with near-silence against bark and leaves as their owners jumped from tree to tree. Legolas pushed the team relentlessly, covering a great distance in a short time. Their fallen comrades were in their minds, and vengeance was in Legolas' heart. Murder was in his sharp navy eyes.

Hate was supposed to be an emotion foreign to the Firstborn, but it was no longer unknown to Legolas. The black feeling filled his chest with strangling ferocity. Never before had he had such an intense desire to end the life of a living being… But after what those orcs had done to Abriel…

Nimellon stopped so suddenly that Legolas nearly collided with him.

"What?" the Crown Prince asked quietly. "What is it?" Nimellon's red eyes studied Legolas' face for an instant.

"This is where I left them," replied Abriel's lieutenant, voice a mere murmur. "We must track them from here on." Legolas nodded.

"So be it," he said, and then, checking that the coast was clear, he dropped deliberately out of the tree, landing in a crouch to absorb the shock. The others came to the ground behind him, but he was already examining the tracks on the ground.

The yell came as Sîrion, the last of them, touched the ground. It was a cry of warning desperation that was quickly cut off. However, it served its purpose, and the patrol immediately drew their weapons.

They were just in time, too, for as the shout was silenced, orcs surged forth from the undergrowth toward the elves on the ground. Then the clearing became a bloody battlefield.

Legolas' twin knives flashed as he met the orcs head-on. One met its end via decapitation within the first five seconds, and another creature was gutted in the next ten.

"Aerion and Celebriel!" Legolas heard Nimellon call. "Find Ëariel and Celebrannon and free them!" Legolas registered their departure in the back of his mind, but he paid them no heed. His thoughts were focused on destroying the monsters that had so badly harmed Abriel and the child she carried.

Legolas' face was a mask of cold anger as he dodged, blocked, slashed, hacked, and stabbed, slaughtering the orcs in an unthinking haze of bloodlust. He ducked under a horizontal swipe that would have left him headless. His right knife flashed out, cutting through the orc's hamstrings, whilst his left knife severed the main artery in the creature's thigh. It would be a fast death for that being, far faster than it deserved.

Another orc charged Legolas. The prince casually sidestepped the clumsy attack and buried his knives to the hilt in the orc's stomach and chest, being sure to twist them into its liver and lung as he ripped the blades cruelly out. And so a second, more lingering demise was dealt.

That was four down. Legolas disemboweled a fifth. His knives were sheathed in one fluid motion, that same movement drawing his bow and nocking an arrow. A sixth orc's last image of the world was the snarling face of the incensed Crown Prince of Greenwood. The same occurred for a seventh as the mad, blind rage blossomed more and more on the elf's face.

Then two more fell to Legolas' arrows, and the short battle was over. Legolas stood, trembling, chest heaving, for a second before slowly lowering his bow, his navy eyes glazing slightly as a sadistic grin curled the corners of his mouth. His half-attentive sight quested across the ground to the enemies he had slain.

There were _so_ many.

It started quietly, but slowly built in volume until it was audible to the ears of all of the elves in the patrol. Legolas was laughing. The sound hurt their ears with the bitterness, derision, and rage it contained, inflected with the beginnings of insanity.

A moment passed before a hesitant Nimellon approached his commander.

"Ernil Legolas?" the albino elf inquired cautiously. Legolas' dark mirth increased in volume, turning all eyes worriedly to him.

"Is it not funny?" he asked through his mad giggles. "I never thought that such destruction could be so liberating!" Nimellon's fair skin paled even further, and he reached toward the prince with one hand.

"Hîr-nin," Nimellon began. However, he stopped as Legolas abruptly spun to face him, a truculent grin twisting his lips and a blood-light in his eyes.

"I am surprised that I never felt this sooner!" he exclaimed. His voice, an amazed sing-song, grated upon the troops' ears. "All those times that I have hunted orcs, I have never noticed the joy that can be obtained from the spilling of their blood and the ending of their lives! Tell me, Nimellon, is it not a glorious thing?"

Nimellon stared in horrified silence at the thing that seemed to have replaced his prince and commander. Legolas' eyes were so deep a blue as to be nearly obsidian, but the feverish light of madness had been kindled in his gaze. It was such a change from the kind commander that he and the troops had come to respect and love that Nimellon could do little more than try to comprehend what was happening to the other elf.

But then Legolas' cruel grin faltered and his eyes focused once more. His laughter died slowly down. A new kind of light entered his eyes as knowledge made a home in his mind.

Suddenly he was their prince again, his forehead creased and his lips twisted into an aggrieved grimace. He appeared disgusted as he spun away from them, lifting the back of his wrist to his closed mouth. All was silent for a few seconds.

"…I am sorry, Nimellon," came a hoarse whisper at last. Nimellon blinked. "I know not what came over me." The lieutenant sighed as he saw Legolas' shoulders heave once in a strangled gasp, and then he settled a hand on the prince's back.

"Let us return to Abriel," Nimellon murmured. Legolas nodded once, seeing Aerion and Celebriel emerging from the trees to his right with the battered Ëariel and Celebrannon in tow. Then the prince turned and entered the trees back the way they had come, head bowed in shame. After exchanging glances, the rest followed him in silence.

Legolas was a mere fifty meters from the battlefield-turned-campsite when a terrified, agonized scream cut through the air. His legs surged forth of their own accord, and his hands flew to his knives as he ran. Ten paces from the clearing he heard the death-cry of an orc. Then he exploded into violent motion as his light feet crossed the boundary between sanctuary and death.

The head of a large orc crashed to the ground and he leapt over the falling body in time to stab another in the back through its spine. That orc collapsed to writhe in agony upon the blood-caked leaf litter of Greenwood. It was paralyzed from the middle of its chest to its toes.

Legolas, in a small pause, caught sight of Adarion standing over Eldawen, who was favoring her leg. The raven-haired assassin was defending his wife as she shot at any of the orcs she could. However, Legolas could see that the Lothlórien elleth was unable to properly defend herself, even with her projectiles. The prince pulled out his own bow and nocked an arrow before letting it fly into the forehead of an orc that had been sneaking up behind the pair.

The battle ended five minutes later when Nimellon, arriving on the scene, shot and killed the last two of the dark creatures. Upon seeing that the action had ceased, Legolas picked his way over to Adarion and Eldawen.

"Are you alright?" he asked them. Eldawen nodded.

"We will be." Her brown eyes quested about, becoming more alarmed by the second. "My prince, Abriel is gone!" Legolas' navy eyes snapped to her, horrified and furious.

"What?!" he exclaimed, and then spun about, frantically searching the area for his beloved. When he could not see her, he turned back to Eldawen.

"Did you not see where she went?" he demanded, his eyes pleading. Eldawen frowned in grief, tears sparkling in her eyes. Legolas turned helplessly to Adarion.

"I glimpsed her crawling to the west before Eldawen was stricken and I was engaged," the patrolman said, answering Legolas' unspoken question. Legolas' eyes flicked in the offered direction, longing to follow Abriel, but he stayed where he was, suddenly seized with indecision. Adarion's emerald eyes gazed knowingly into Legolas' own navy ones when the prince turned back to him.

"Go search for her, ernil-nin," Adarion said gently, lifting a hand to grip Legolas' shoulder with comforting compassion. "I shall care for Eldawen. We'll take the wounded back home." Legolas nodded brusquely, gratitude in his eyes.

"Hannon le, Adarion," he whispered. Then he was gone. Adarion's eyes sought Nimellon's from across the clearing.

"Go with him. Someone needs to make sure he doesn't kill himself in one way or another," Adarion said. Nimellon did not reply, opting to dash off after Legolas without wasting any time. Adarion and Eldawen watched them disappear, saying a silent prayer for their safety and success. After all, that was all anyone could do at this point.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or the Hobbit._

_**Chapter 6 will be posted tomorrow. No exception. *headdesk***_

_**I really have no explanation or excuse to offer... *headdeskheaddeskheaddeskheaddeskheaddesk* This semester has been madness, but really, I've had time to start writing new Assassin's Creed fics, play video games, and start learning the violin, but I totally forgot to update this fic.**_

_**I AM SO SORRY.**_

_**A huge thank you goes to AWanderersHaven, who was kind enough to review Chapter 4 and give me the reminder/kick in the pants I needed to get this (disgustingly short) chapter out. I've still got things to do tonight, but I WILL get chapter 6 out tomorrow.**_

_**If anybody wants to hear about the Wethrim, either tell me in a review or in a PM, and I'll post it at the end of the next chapter. And for anybody who is interested in what I've been up to for the past few years, check out my other profile here:  
FFN Author penname: "Portrait of a Scribe"  
and DeviantART penname: "ElvenWhiteMage"**_

_**Don't worry, everything will make sense by the end of this fic, I swear.**_

_-__**GundamWingFanatic90**__, a.k.a. __**Portrait of a Scribe**_


	7. CHAPTER 6

_**Chapter 6 submitted 5-25-13.**_

_**Summary: The year is 2325 of the Second Age. Fifteen years after the events of The Red Hunters, all is going fairly well in the Greenwood, but the Shadow continues to grow. Just when things begin to look up for Legolas, tragedy strikes. Battling against the madness that threatens to overtake him, nothing will ever be the same for the Crown Prince. PG 13 for language, violence, and romance.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or any related characters or works. They belong to Mister J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

* * *

_**THE GOLDEN WARRIOR.**__  
Book Four in the __IAUR MIN__ Series.  
By GundamWingFanatic90/Portrait of a Scribe._

* * *

_CHAPTER 6._

"Legolas, we need to return to your father's halls." Nimellon's voice cut through the stagnant silence like a barb. The obsidian gaze of the Crown Prince of Greenwood transferred itself from the darkening trees around them to the red eyes of Abriel's adopted brother.

"And what of Abriel?" Legolas asked. His voice was rather bleak. "Are we to give up on her?" Nimellon shook his head before placing a hand on Legolas' shoulder.

"Nay, we shall never give up on my sister until we come across evidence that proves, without any doubt, that her demise has come about," he replied with conviction. "But you and I both need to rest soon and treat our wounds." He looked meaningfully into Legolas' eyes, pointedly prodding a shallow gash on the prince's upper arm. "We _will_ find her, mellon-nin, one way or another. And I think that your parents are likely worried sick about you, just as Siros and Mithwen are doubtlessly worried for my safety. And not only that, Legolas." Nimellon lightly shook Legolas' shoulder for emphasis. "My adoptive parents deserve to get an update about their daughter… from both before _and_ after she went missing."

Legolas raised a skeptically inquisitive eyebrow, and Nimellon rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"You need to tell them about the fact that you and Abriel were Bonded and expecting a child," he sighed. "It is your decision whether you do or do not tell your own parents." Legolas grimaced faintly, looking away from the earnest red gaze, but his shoulders slumped and he nodded in affirmation.

"Alright," he conceded. "Let's go." Nimellon cracked a small smile. He hooked his hand around the back of Legolas' neck and pulled him closer until their foreheads touched. Nimellon's eyes closed as he revealed a side to him that few ever saw.

"Abriel will be alright, tithen-gwador-nin," the albino elf murmured. "She is strong and brash, but you know how stubborn she can be. My sister will not give up her life so easily, not with so much at stake." His smile grew a little more in remembrance of the elleth he had watched grow from an infant into an adult.

"Abriel will survive, and we shall seek her until she is found, no matter what happens, however long or far it takes us. She is too dear to offer any less effort."

Legolas' lips twitched in the hollow shadow of a smile.

"Aye," he whispered. "She is too dear, indeed. To the end?" Nimellon's despairing grin widened slightly once again.

"Aye, to the end."

* * *

In the three days that they had been searching, Legolas and Nimellon had ranged quite far from home. They had found Abriel's path shortly after parting from their patrols, leading to the bank of a deep stream before vanishing in a jumble into the rushing water. Since then they had combed the banks on either side of the stream for any sign of their mutual loved one, to no avail. When they finally decided to turn back, they were a five days' walk from Thranduil's halls, having been traveling non-stop even at night. Their strength running low, they camped on the first evening of their retreat. They walked through the second day and night as well as the third day. They made camp again that night, their sleep restless. No sign of Abriel had been gained during their backtracking. They ran through the fourth day, coming upon the outermost border of Thranduil's innermost kingdom at dusk.

Legolas and Nimellon went first to the home of Abriel's parents, a talan constructed high in a sturdy oak tree. Nimellon patted the prince reassuringly on the arm when Legolas hesitated. The younger elf nodded gratefully before scaling the tree to the talan's entrance, Nimellon following close behind.

"Adar? Naneth?" the albino elf called into the talan. "I have returned from my mission."

"Nimellon?" queried a pure, youthful voice. It twisted Legolas' heartstrings. There was a good reason, after all, why Abriel had often complained about people saying that she and her mother sounded alike.

An elleth with raven hair appeared in the archway that connected the main room to the study. Her silver eyes were smiling as they landed upon the two elves in the entryway.

"Nimellon! You've returned!" Her gaze landed upon Legolas, and she smiled gently. "And Legolas! It is good to see you, ernil-nin. How do the two of you fare?" Legolas resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably, and exchanged a weary, pained glance with Nimellon in the dark hallway, the guilt heavy in their gazes.

"Mithwen? Who is that I hear?" came a voice from the study before either of the younger two could speak. The elleth, Mithwen, looked toward the study.

"Nimellon has returned, and he has brought Ernil Legolas along with him!" she called loudly.

"Ai! I see!" came the reply. Mithwen turned back to the pair and shrugged apologetically to Legolas.

"Siros' hearing has worsened of late," she said in explanation. "Ever since those orcs dripped poison into his ears on that mission it has gone little by little. We have been treating it, but he still has trouble upon occasion." Mithwen stopped talking as Siros, her husband, entered the room.

Siros was a tall elf with blond hair so light as to be nearly silver. He had broad, well-muscled shoulders, though he was by no means as bulky as some men became. His deep, forest-green eyes narrowed, missing little as he came to stand beside Mithwen, an arm coming to rest about her waist.

His baritone voice was quiet as he said, "Would you care to come into the study to talk?"

Siros had obviously seen that they had news. Legolas swallowed and nodded, following the pair and Nimellon into the study that he had often occupied in past days. Mithwen pulled some chairs up around the window and offered them to her adopted son and the prince.

"Please, sit," she said with a smile. Legolas and Nimellon thanked her, and soon all four of them were seated.

"Now, I can tell that you've something important to say," Siros stated. "So what is it that brings you all this way out to speak of?" Legolas swallowed with some effort and opened his mouth to speak. No sound came out. He closed his mouth and cleared his throat before trying again.

"I-I…" he stammered, glancing at his albino friend. Nimellon put a hand reassuringly on the prince's forearm.

"Just tell them what happened, Legolas," Nimellon advised, watching as his parents' faces grew more confused and alarmed as the time passed. "Start from when we were sent out." The prince took a deep breath and nodded gratefully, drawing strength from his white-haired brother figure.

"What has happened?" Mithwen's voice was quiet, and trembled slightly when she spoke. Legolas nearly lost his nerve, looking into the worried face of the woman he loved as a second mother, but he gathered courage again and began to speak.

"Not seven days ago," he started, "a messenger came to my father's halls saying that the patrols were being attacked." He saw Siros and Mithwen blanch, but plowed on before they could say something. The words tumbled from the prince in a controlled rush. "I gathered the remaining patrols and set out to warn the ranging ones." He paused. "Abriel had set out earlier that day with the members of my own patrol. I took her patrol and pursued her, but the orcs reached them before we could." Here he gritted his teeth and looked away, fighting back the moisture in his eyes at the memory of what they had come upon. Nimellon continued for him, seeing that Legolas could say no more.

"The patrol had been decimated," he said. "The orcs fled as we reached the battleground, but we were too late. Only five of the patrol still lived when we arrived. Two more had been taken by the orcs. One more died soon after we got there. Abriel was one of the four remaining." Here Mithwen released a choked gasp, and Legolas flinched as Siros pulled her to him and shushed her.

"What do you mean, 'was'?" Abriel's father inquired firmly, his green eyes penetrating and worried as he gazed upon the elves he had come to see as his sons. Nimellon's red gaze was full of sorrow as he continued his story.

"We left Abriel and Tinnuion, Legolas' lieutenant, in the care of Eldawen, our patrol's healer, and her husband, Adarion," he said. "We hunted down the orcs and slew them, regaining the last two living patrol members, and then we made our way back." Legolas was grateful that Nimellon had glossed over the event and left out the prince's brief stroke of madness. "But as we approached, the sounds of battle reached our ears. We soon discovered that a troop of orcs had doubled back around to finish off the wounded whilst we took care of the others."

"We killed the attackers with Adarion and Eldawen's help," Legolas continued quietly. He still would not look at Abriel's sobbing mother or her distraught father. His voice wavered as he struggled to remain strong. "But we learned that Abriel, though direly wounded, had fled through the forest. We tracked her to a nearby stream. It was deep. The bank showed signs of a struggle, and then her tracks vanished into the water." Here he found himself gasping around the lump in his throat, but he forced himself to conclude, "We searched for her for three days before returning. We could find nothing."

And finally he allowed himself a slight weakness, burying his face in his hands as he leaned heavily on his elbows, which were propped on his knees. Mithwen's anguish filled the study for a moment. Then Nimellon, seeing that Legolas was not about to speak, rested a hand on the prince's shoulder.

"Legolas," the albino prompted. "One of us must tell them."

"Tell us what?" Mithwen croaked from her husband's embrace. "What could be worse than hearing that our daughter has gone missing when in critical condition?" Nimellon felt Legolas' flinch, but the prince did not speak. His shoulders trembled faintly under Nimellon's palm. The white-haired elf decided that he would have to answer.

"Abriel is pregnant," he replied. Mithwen gasped in shock and Siros' jaw dropped, both staring numbly at their adopted son.

"She told me as I held her on the battlefield." Legolas' voice was the quietest of whispers, but even Siros' damaged ears could hear the heartbroken agony in it. Slowly Legolas lowered his hands from his face and rose to his feet.

"We Bonded four months ago," he confessed quietly. "She became pregnant a month and a half past, and discovered it for herself two weeks ago. She told me of it as she lay bleeding in my arms." A candle sputtered to life in a corner at a thought from the prince, exposing out of the gloom the crimson and black blood upon his face and clothes. Slowly, he took a breath.

"I am sorry that we did not tell you sooner or follow custom," he said. "But never shall I recant the time Abriel and I had. I only hope that you can forgive me for failing to save her." Bowing, he said, "Please excuse me." Then he was gone.

Nimellon's sad crimson gaze was the only one that watched the prince go.

* * *

The palace was silent in the midnight dimness, as were Legolas' footsteps as he padded through the halls. A shaft of moonlight fell across his path. The silvery aura briefly highlighted his blood-crusted features, and then he became invisible again.

A shadow moved in the darkness: a sentry, making his rounds. He stopped for an instant, and then he stepped forward toward Legolas' dead-eyed form.

"Ernil-nin?" the sentry inquired cautiously. "Is that you?" Legolas swallowed.

"Aye," he rasped. "Is my father the king in his study?" The elf nodded.

"Indeed he is, ernil-nin," he replied. "Her highness the queen is with him." Legolas nodded.

"And my brother, Ecthelion? What of him?" The sentry tilted his head thoughtfully.

"Sleeping, I believe." He blinked at Legolas. "Why?" Legolas did not reply, simply thanking the guard and heading toward his father's study.

The halls of the palace seemed long and empty to the prince, whose obsidian gaze took note of very little as he passed, wraithlike, through their well-used passages. A flickering lamp briefly cast his features into sharp relief, marking the turn that would take Legolas to his destination. He paused and then took a right, his feet carrying him without noise over the stone.

Legolas stopped again outside the door of his father's study, feeling cold and sick. He could hear his mother's worried soprano, and his father's answering baritone through the wood. His name ghosted across his ears, and he closed his eyes. Gathering his little remaining strength, Legolas sluggishly raised his nigh-unresponsive arm and knocked quietly upon the study door.

All talk inside immediately ceased, and silence stretched for what seemed an eternity. Then the call to enter reached into his conscious mind. His hand drifted to the door latch.

With a faint creak, he slowly shouldered the old wooden slab open, his body feeling like lead. Had it really only been eight days ago that he had laughed with his brother and father as they went over reports in this very room? It seemed an age had passed.

Andiach's shocked gasp entered Legolas' ears as he wordlessly shut the door behind him, the sound of the latch seeming very final to the prince.

"Legolas!" she exclaimed, and then Legolas found himself engulfed in her arms, shortly followed by Thranduil's. For a moment, he allowed them to hug him, Andiach relaying her worry to him. Then, realizing that Legolas had not reacted to them, the king and queen pulled back.

Legolas did not meet their eyes, gazing emptily over their shoulders and into space. A pregnant pause spread between the three of them, and Legolas felt his mother pull a strand of blood-caked hair behind his ear.

"Ion-nin," Andiach ventured after a moment of stunned silence. "You are wounded."

"No." It was Thranduil, this time. His forest-green eyes scrutinized his son, keenly spotting the blankness of his eyes, the emotionless cast to his expression. "Legolas is unharmed. However," He tilted Legolas' face up so that he could meet his gaze, "I suspect that his wounds are of the heart, and not of the body."

Andiach and Thranduil exchanged glances, and then Thranduil led Legolas over to the couch that sat near the window. Andiach, in the meanwhile, retrieved a mug of tea from the kettle that hung over the fire, as well as a wash rag and basin of water from the adjoining room. That done, she gave the tea to Legolas, and sat down before him on the floor.

"What happened, ion-nin?" asked Thranduil, his hand strong and reassuring upon his son's shoulder. A moment passed with bated breath, and then Legolas' quiet voice rippled through the room.

When the tale of the past five days had been retold once more, Legolas hesitated. Seeing this, Andiach dipped the rag in the basin and lifted it to her son's face, gently scrubbing the dried blood from his skin.

"And?" she whispered softly. "You hesitate, Legolas. There is something that you are not telling us." Brushing the cloth across his brow, Andiach's silver eyes met Legolas' obsidian ones, willing and desiring to share and understand. "Your emotions are a tumultuous tangle of searing pain and crushing grief, and of guilt and fear that threaten to drag you down into an abyss of despair."

Concerned, Thranduil glanced at his wife before turning again to his eldest son.

Legolas had blanched, and he now looked away from them, swallowing in an attempt to wet his throat. Thoughts of Abriel darted through his mind, memories of their lives together playing themselves in his head. A shudder passed through him with recollections of their Bonding, their love, her laughter, her face twisted in pain and in humor, and the blood that had saturated her clothes when last he had seen her.

"She was carrying my child," he choked out. "We Bonded four months ago." Unnoticed by him, Thranduil and Andiach paled, exchanging looks of grief and horror. "We begat a child three fortnights ago. I found out as she lay in my arms upon the battlefield."

A tremor ran through him, and then he suddenly found himself wrapped in his parents' arms once more. Then, with a strangled gasp, Legolas, Crown Prince of Greenwood, broke down.

His quiet tears lasted long into the night.

* * *

"_Have you ever been to Lothlórien, Legolas?"_

_He shifted, turned toward her. A strong hand caressed her nude side with the utmost tenderness._

"_No. Why do you ask?"_

"_Someday I'll have to take you there."_

_She snuggled closer to him with a contented sigh, tangling their legs together._

"_It has such a restful peace to it, a timelessness that could allow you to forget the outside world and become lost in it."_

"_Hmmm…"_

Half-open navy eyes fluttered, their owner hovering between consciousness and sleep.

"_It's so peaceful… I think that, if we were ever separated, I would go there."_

Well-shaped lips pulled back into a grimace as he struggled to hold onto the memory.

"_It's the only place I know of where I could find even a fraction of the healing that I feel when I'm near you."_

With a jerk, Legolas' eyes cleared and he flew into a sitting position, gasping for air. After a second, he focused properly on his surroundings and lowered his head into a hand with a weary, trembling sigh. Memories of the past few days tumbled into his thoughts.

Then the memory his subconscious had dredged up came to him. After a moment's review, he swung out of bed and entered his bath chamber. A quick wash removed the remaining blood and gore from his face and hair, and then he dressed hastily, grabbed his weapons, and headed toward his door. Then the prince paused, his eyes sweeping around his bed chamber.

A moment's deliberation gave him the decision to walk to the desk and then to the nightstand, to write a short letter to his parents. As the pen scratched across the paper to produce a hurried scrawl, Legolas' gaze caught a glint of silver near the base of the wall. He paused, the pen scribbling the closing of the letter, and laid the quill down. Legolas' fingers drifted to pick the item up.

It was a necklace that Abriel had worn for as long as he could remember. She had once told him that it had belonged to her great-grandmother, who had given it to her before leaving for the white shores. A tiny, finely-wrought mithril lily was suspended from a delicate golden chain. In the center of the flower was an emerald, and each of the six petals contained either a miniscule sapphire or an equally-sized diamond.

Feeling his throat constrict, Legolas closed his fingers over the pendant even as his eyes clenched shut, as well. A moment later, he opened his navy gaze to the world once more, and silently slipped the necklace's chain over his head, tucking it under his tunic.

"No more tears," he whispered, swallowing. "Not now. You have to find her, Legolas. There isn't time for useless tears."

And with that, he was gone, a ghost in the moonlight.

The letter on his nightstand rustled mournfully in his wake.

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or the Hobbit._

_**Chapter 7 will be posted 5-31-13.**_

_**Thank you all for your patience, yet again. Last night was my sister's graduation; I didn't get home until about midnight, and having not slept the night before, pretty much just passed out as soon as my butt hit the chair. It was rather pathetic.**_

_**A HUGE thank you goes to Guest, and to Aranel Mereneth. Finally, someone who knows their Tolkien!**_

_**Aranel: Yes, I do remember that intimacy equals marriage. I read HoME Volume 12 (Specifically, The Shibboleth of Feanor) several years ago, and I was like, "Huh. That's pretty cool." It's one of my biggest pet-peeves about Tolkien!fic, and one of the main reasons why I simply don't read it, anymore. (It's really, REALLY annoying to see Thranduil or Elrond sleeping with someone OTHER than their wives.) As to Abriel's disappearance, when the orcs doubled back around to finish her and her lieutenant off, they ran into some unexpected resistance in the form of Eldawen and Adarion. Abriel managed to escape during the fight, but now it's a matter of finding her. She was never in the Houses of Healing; they found her out in the forest with the gristly remains of her patrol. (Trust me, it's an easy thing to miss, unfortunately... I'm thinking about rewriting that chapter again.)**_

_**If anybody wants to hear about the Wethrim, either tell me in a review or in a PM, and I'll post it at the end of the next chapter. And for anybody who is interested in what I've been up to for the past few years, check out my other profile here:  
FFN Author penname: "Portrait of a Scribe"  
and DeviantART penname: "ElvenWhiteMage"**_

_**Don't worry, (most) everything will make sense by the end of this fic, I swear.**_

_-__**GundamWingFanatic90**__, a.k.a. __**Portrait of a Scribe**_


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